


More Tales of the N7 Special Ops Corps

by desdenova



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Mass Effect Multiplayer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desdenova/pseuds/desdenova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Reaper War, the fate of the galaxy depends on Commander Shepard. You can read a thousand stories about the Commander. This is not one of them. </p><p>But what about the faceless grunts--the soldiers, mercenaries, and random hangers-on who do the unglamorous work of activating communication arrays, gathering intel,  escorting recon drones, and eliminating key enemy personnel? </p><p>These are their stories.</p><p> </p><p>(One of the friends with whom I play Mass Effect 3 Multiplayer started writing ficlets based on the multiplayer missions and game mechanics. I was thereby inspired to follow suit. The full set of writings can be found <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mGMM6hLSK8LwdUcDRPOrFbJVJbkC-47_e-eZJw_tOV0/edit">here</a>. (link goes to readable google document.) )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey! Listen!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (So why does the drone invariably lead us through the densest concentration of enemy forces?)

Ops Specialist Casey Jones scowled behind her visor. "Let me get this straight. They want us to 'escort' this piece of shit drone--through that?" She gestured emphatically towards the window overlooking a vast plaza patrolled by six--no, seven--geth pyros. And a Prime.  
  
"That appears to be the case," Sarge replied. "The good news is, if we survive, we finally get off this fucking planet."  
  
"But it doesn't even have rockets!" Jones exclaimed. " Mine  has rockets! Why are they sending a defenseless drone into a war zone? Whose brilliant idea was that?"  
  
"Well, technically, it's not defenseless," drawled Viya'Lan vos Kwib-Kwib. "It's got _us_."  
  
"They could have installed a stunner, at least!"  
  
"Enh. You should see some of what the Admiralty Board comes up with. This would qualify as one of their better ideas." The cynical quarian was the squad's sole non-human member. She claimed to have joined the N7 Corps as a vacation from the Migrant Fleet.  
  
"Missions like this are why I quit Cerberus," sniffed Grey. The rest of the team ignored him, as usual.  
  
"Seriously, who makes these things?" Jones scanned the drone with her omni-tool. "Oh." She called up a display, showing the drone's make and model number: it was a Hahne-Kedar NAVI-360.  
  
"Oh?" asked Sarge.  
  
"You remember last year when Hahne-Kadar's manufacturing facility on Capek was shut down after the big mech recall? Well, they implemented new fabrication procedures which are supposed to be more 'secure' against VI malfunctions."  
  
"I'm not a tech, Jones. What does that mean?"  
  
"What it means, Sarge, is that these things? Are assembled by vorcha."


	2. The Vorcha Escort Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-vorcha squad + Drone escort mission = Infinite number of "escort service" jokes

Ever since Cerberus had taken control of Omega, business had been terrible. It was hard enough for an entrepreneur to operate in a niche market during the best of times, but with those pyjaks in charge, demand had evaporated like a puddle of varren piss under the hot Tuchanka sun.   
  
The krogan known as Superfreak (nobody on Omega used their original name, he was no different) ran the numbers again, with the same dismal result. He could hold out another 36 standard days, at best, and then he'd have to start feeding the vorcha  to each other . And once he started cannibalizing his inventory, it would only be a matter of time before he found himself living out of the dumpsters behind the Fish Dog Food Shack on Level 7. Or worse,  working there.   
  
His comm chimed. The message identifier indicated that it came from a human working on one of the newly-restricted levels. Maybe some of those quadless Cerberus chumps were adventurous after all. Superfreak tabbed the message open.   
  


"Me and some of the boys are looking for some entertainment to celebrate our first two weeks without a workplace fatality. Do you have any asari?"

  
Superfreak felt the blood rage creeping into the edge of his vision. Hitting the "reply" icon on the message, he recorded, "Look, you stupid pyjak. What part of 'VORCHA ESCORT SERVICE' don't you understand? Could you even tell the difference if I painted the vorcha blue and  told you they were asari?!?! GRAAAH!!!"   
  
That was  it . He was done with Omega, done with Cerberus, done with small business ownership. It was time to kill things. He stomped into the back room where the vorcha were denned.   
  
"Get moving, flamers!," he roared. One of the vorcha was so startled, it fell out of its bunk. He continued, "You worms have fifteen minutes to pack your flamethrowers and put your loincloths on. We're going to join the army!"


	3. Kishock Harpoon Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Nobody likes this gun. Nobody.)

The mission was a smash-and-grab raid on a salarian research station which had been overrun by the Reapers. Lieutenant Mbeke was doing a final gear check on her squad before they boarded the shuttle. Draupadi looked all set: assault rifle, omnitool, deployable shield pylon. Sanchez, likewise: shotgun, SMG, rocket launcher. Uruslav...  
  
"Uruslav, what the hell is that... thing?"  He was carrying some ungainly rifle-like piece of equipment that looked like it had been constructed by drunken vorcha.  
  
"This? It's a harpoon gun. I won it from a batarian in a poker game. Batarians love poker, you know?"  
  
The lieutenant sighed. Uruslav was one of the irregulars the Alliance had signed up in the last few months, and like most of them, he took a somewhat cavalier attitude towards proper military practices. Such as standardized weaponry.  
  
"Uruslav, you do understand that we're going to fight Reaper forces, not  sharks , yes?"  
  
The corporal had the grace to look slightly embarassed. "Well, the Brutes do have that lobster-claw thing... But seriously, Ma'am, some of the batarians I knew in the Suns swore by these. I figured I'd give it a field test."  
  
It was true, the Blue Suns were one of the more militarily effective mercenary bands, she'd been on the wrong side of a few fights with them, herself. Might as well let Uruslav give his harpoon gun a try.  
  
"Very well, then. Everybody into the shuttle! Move! And Uruslav, make sure you have your sidearm close at hand, in case it turns out you're not a batarian shark-hunter after all."  
  
.........  
  
After the mission:  
  
"So, Corporal, how'd that harpoon gun work out for you?"  
  
"I can see why the batarians like it so much, Ma'am!"  
  
"Really? Why?"  
  
"It makes an excellent club, Ma'am!"


	4. Hot Pink with Turquoise Scrollwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Pimp My Geth)

"data archived from the Legion platform indicate that geth more efficiently (e_r=8.76 \pm 0.44) interface with organics when the organics perceive a platform as an 'individual'"   
  
"we are not 'individual.' we are geth"   
  
"organic nature prevents them from differentiating between code and hardware-their runtimes cannot be disassociated from their platforms without permanent loss of data"   
  
"organics are inefficient"   
  
"organics are necessary if the Old Machines are to be defeated (OR>100000000000). we must enhance their  efficiency."   
  
POLLING CONSTITUENT RUNTIMES   
  
"consensus achieved: mobile platforms will be individuated, to enhance organic efficiency when interfacing with geth"   
  
"data query: effective means of individuation among organics"   
  
"a majority of intelligent organic species rely primarily on optical properties, and visual perception of morphology"   
  
"modification of morphology is projected to consume an amount of time and material resources that lies outside of acceptable parameters."   
  
"minor variations in spectral characteristics of mobile platform materials offer a high degree of differentiation while compromising overall combat effectiveness by 7.9%"   
  
"the projected efficiency improvements to organic interfacing indicates 21% average increase in the combat effectiveness of mixed geth-organic forces, and a 79% improvement during conflicts with geth platforms and runtimes compromised by the Old Machines"   
  
"the Creators use spectral characteristics to overcome a lack of individuation imposed by their protective suits"   
  
"artificial variation of spectral characteristics is also a common among asari, turians, and humans."   
  
"the paradigm is familiar to many of the organic species we must interface with"   
  
"using readily-available materials,  25509168 distinct variations in the visual appearance of geth mobile platforms can be created"   
  
POLLING CONSTITUENT RUNTIMES

  
"consensus achieved: pigmented patterns will be applied to mobile platforms designated for interfacing with organics. "   
  


  
_ (And that, children, is how the geth mobile platform got its stripes) _


	5. Whack It for Hackett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FORNAX salutes the troops.

Asari commando-turned exotic dancer-turned commando Ereiya T'Shan strolled into the crew lounge and handed a data pad to her bondmate, Gravia.  
  
"What's this?" the turian woman asked. "Do I even want to know?"  
  
"Of course you do! It's my complimentary download of the new  _Fornax_ . My issue."  
  
Instead of one of the lurid cover images the magazine was known for, this edition featured only the logos of the four Council races and a block of text:  
  


> __
> 
> FORNAX SUPPORTS THE TROOPS!
> 
> In this special edition of FORNAX, we show our appreciation for the brave (and sexy!) men, women, and sentient beings of other or no gender who are out on the front lines, fighting for the safety of the galaxy. Every model featured in this edition is a bona fide member of the armed forces! Even better, every race is represented, from asari to vorcha, batarian to volus! All proceeds from purchases of this edition will be donated to organizations supporting the war effort.
> 
> FORNAX invites you to join us in saluting the heroes of the galaxy, and WHACK IT FOR HACKETT!"

  
" _What_ are we supposed to be doing for the Admiral?" Gravia asked.  
  
"It's a human idiom. It means 'to gratify oneself sexually.' "  
  
"I can think of more effective ways to fight a war, and I'm sure Admiral Hackett can, too." The turian had a disturbing thought. "He's not in here, is he?"  
  
Ereiya laughed. "Sadly,no. But never mind Hackett--I'm in Section 3."  
  
Gravia dutifully tabbed to Section 3 (Biotic Booty) and was treated to images and a vid clip of Ereiya posing provocatively, clad in nothing but biotic fields. Years ago, before the Blue Suns and before Ereiya, Gravia would have been bothered by the thought of her mate modeling for the galaxy's most popular fetish magazine. But, being in a committed relationship meant supporting your beloved's hobbies, and after all this time Ereiya's exhibitionism had become almost endearing.  
  
Besides, there was nothing in the magazine that hadn't been seen nightly by hundreds of Zoryan mercs for the last fifty years.  
  
"Nice. I especially like Number 4. You can show me the live version next time we have shore leave."  
  
Ereiya beamed. "Only if you're good," she teased. "By the way, I think you'll also like Number One in Section Seven."  
  
Number One in Section Seven (Turgid Turians) was a vid clip featuring a pair of amorous turian men. Gravia watched it with detached interest. "Eri, while it's true that these two are prime specimens of turian masculinity, this isn't really my thing..." She trailed off.  
  
"You noticed something?" Ereiya was barely concealing her amusement.  
  
"The one on the left... that's Executor Torrin, isn't it?"  
  
"It is! I saw him at the recording session!"  
  
Torrin had been Gravia's commanding officer, back when she was a proper Turian. He hadn't appreciated her lack of respect for protocol, and had played a large part in her decision to desert and run off to the Terminus Systems. She bore him no ill will--it was the best decision she'd ever made.  
  
"Fascinating. I'd never have thought that somebody with such a large stick up his cloaca would turn out to be quite so gifted in both reach  _and_ flexibility. The Hierarchy should be proud."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a vorcha section (Burnin' 4 U). And a geth section (Fully Functional). And a vorcha/geth section. The editors of Fornax are nothing if not thorough. And imaginative. And tacky.


	6. The Joy of Tech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladders: how do they work?

"Tech Specialist Jon Dupre' reporting, as requested."  
  
Operations Chief Angus Navarro pointed at the chair in front of his console. As assistant quartermaster of the SSV Chandrasakar , in the middle of the worst war humanity had ever seen, Navarro was responsible for making sure that the Alliance's soldiers had the best, most reliable equipment available, and that was why he had summoned Tech Specialist Dupre' to his office.  
  
"Mister Dupre', you handle ground forces VI support, correct?"  
  
"There are several of us, but I'm in charge, yes. What's this about?"  
  
"Dupre, are you aware that, over the past month, there has been a _twenty-six per cent_ increase in the rate of casualties attributable to _ladders_?"  
  
"Ladders?"  
  
Navarro mad a show of consulting one of the data pads piled on his console. "Of these ladder-related casualties, thirty-five per cent are listed as 'inability to climb ladder to escape enemy advance,'  forty-five per cent are listed as 'took enemy fire while climbing ladder and unable to stop," and twenty per cent are 'fell off ledge near ladder.' Since I don't think our marines have suddenly forgotten how to _climb ladders_ , I suspect this may have something to do with the movement VI update you lot pushed out to all our hardsuits on the sixteenth."  
  
Dupre shifted uncomfortably, and not just because the quartermaster had selected that chair for its narrow seat and lack of cushioning. "Ah, well, yes, it turns out that's a known bug in the latest release. We didn't think it would be a major issue, sir."  
  
Navarro could feel a migraine coming on. It was a standard result of dealing with idiot subordinates. "Well, Dupre, the mission reports indicate that it is a problem, so what are you going to do to fix it?"  
  
"Nothing, sir."  
  
The office was filled with silence as the two men faced off. Dupre' never stood a chance.  
  
"What I mean, sir, is that while we could normally demand the developers patch the bug... they are--were--based on Earth."  
  
And thus unlikely to be coding updates for hardsuit VIs any time soon, even if they weren't already converted to shambling husks. Come to think of it, Navarro doubted that husk conversion would have any significant effect on the intellect of VI 'specialists' who couldn't get ladders right.  
  
"Then uninstall the update--go back to the previous version."  
  
"That would be inadvisable, sir. The VI integrates with the suits' systems on multiple levels. There's no telling what uninstalling it could do. Besides, I think you'll find that in spite of the ladder thing, this version of the VI improves mobility and speed to a degree that the marines would miss if you took it away, now that they've gotten used to it. The ladder problems can be avoided if the troops are careful."  
  
"So what you're telling me, Dupre', is that I have to issue an advisory to all personnel to be extra vigilant when approaching ladders." Definitely a migraine.  
  
"That's about the size of it, sir."  
  
"I hate this job."  
  
\----------  
  
 _Two months later, following a series of incidents involving miscalibrated Cobra missile launchers, Jon Dupre was discovered to have been Indoctrinated.  His replacement, a turian, solved the calibration problem, but he was never able to correct the ladder issue._


	7. The Vol Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small apology to Lois McMaster Bujold might be in order.

Oblat Ord huddled beneath a human-sized laboratory bench, and inspected the damage to her environment suit. The repairs appeared to be holding. What a relief--she needn't fear dying of asphyxiation before one of those Reaper monstrosities could rip her limb from limb. 

To say that the mission had gone bad was a gross understatement. First, the Kro-Clan biotic had fallen under the combined onslaught of two Brutes. Oblat's HUD indicated that the Kro-Clan was not dead, and given two or three days to regenerate, would recover. Then, the power unit on the Earth-Clan's battle suit had overloaded after taking simultaneous fire from a Ravager and a Banshee. Like the Kro-Clan, he was not dead, but the suit malfunction prevented him from moving, let alone firing a weapon. And the vorcha, well, the vorcha was most definitely deceased. Oblat had watched the Banshee rip its spine out, and then she herself had panicked and launched her only Cobra missile at the mutant asari, turing Banshee and vorcha alike to ash. Not even a vorcha could survive that. 

That left Oblat Ord, Vol-Clan engineer, former quality inspector for Elkoss Combine, as the only functional member of Squad 17. She'd been sent on this mission as technical support, for Plenix's sake! What was one small volus to do against an unknown (but large) number of Reaper Creatures? 

Two of those creatures were shuffling past Oblat's hiding place. She held very still. 

_What would Mil Kosig do?_ That heroic volus, rejected by the Hegemony military academy and his own family, had nevertheless leveraged cleverness and good luck into leadership of a Terminus Systems mercenary group, and continued to win the day on a weekly basis. Never mind that he was a vid character--if Mil could take down a gang of Batarian pirates using only his wits, his omnitool, and a bottle of Illium Mystery Drink, surely she could defeat a dozen Cannibals. She might not have her own team of Illium Entertainment writers, but she did have an assault rifle, a military-grade omnitool, and an unlimited supply of tech mines. 

Ever so slowly and quietly, she configured a recon mine, and once she was sure the Reaper creatures had moved past her, she slid it across the floor towards the room's entrace, where it activated. Her HUD lit up with the positions of nine... ten... eleven enemies, all of them approximately batarian-sized and shaped. No more Brutes or Banshees, then--her missile must have finished the last of them. Maybe she _could_ do this after all. 

The sound of the mine activating, along with the blinking lights, drew the attention of the two nearest Cannibals, and they moved to investigate. Enemy attention diverted, Oblat engaged the second part of her plan, and launched a proximity mine in the same direction. As soon as the Cannibals drew near, the mine exploded. The immediate threat terminated (and missing some limbs), the volus rolled out from under the lab bench, and scurried behind a sturdy piece of equipment. Now, she only had to wait. 

It didn't take long before another Cannibal came along. Seeing two of its clan in distressed condition, it squatted down for a snack. Those things really were dumber than holovid pirates, which was to say, very dumb indeed. She activated her tac cloak, drew a bead on the monster, and opened fire. 

The next two Cannibals that came along found a _three_-course meal, the temptation of which they resisted as well as their predecessor had. Soon, a pile of five dead creatures lay before the door. Then six, eight, and finally, eleven. The recon mine reported no more enemies in the building. She'd done it! 

Her new problem: the mountain of dead Cannibals blocking the door. That was easily solved, by exploding the mine. Now, to fix the Earth-clan's suit, and get him to drag the Kro-clan out to the extraction point. It was time to earn her credits.

 

Weyrloc Krom _never_ lived down having been rescued by a volus during the Reaper War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my friends and co-players requested a fic with this title. This isn't quite what he had in mind, I'm afraid.


	8. Odd Vorcha Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of these vorcha is not like the others.

"Trogdor, why humans call this 'mess hall' and get mad when vorcha make mess? It make no sense."

"That because humans make no sense, Br'drik. You shut up now. I see who we looking for."

There was a new vorcha on the ship. Rumor had it that this was a strange vorcha indeed. Instead of a proper flamethrower, it fought using small burning projectiles and electricity, like some kind of salarian. As the VES's dominant vorcha, it fell to Trogdor to investigate the situation. (And to set it on fire, if necessary.)

The new vorcha was currently sitting alone, gnawing on the remains of a varren steak. Trogdor and Br'drik surrounded it as effectively as two vorcha could manage, and Trogdor snarled "Who you?" into the stranger's face. It was a move designed to provoke a challenge or a submissive response, but the strange vorcha merely cocked its head and answered, "I Sir Izak Nuton. You no hear of me?"

Trogdor bared its fangs and hissed, as vorcha do when asserting dominance. "That not vorcha name! You salarian pretending to be vorcha! What kind of name that?"

The strange vorcha replied, "You sit down, I tell you." It gestured at some empty chairs. Trogdor was so fazed by this vorcha's lack of response to standard vorcha body language that it was sitting before it realized what it was doing. Br'drik followed suit.

"I not always Sir Izak Nuton," it began. "Before war, I called Narg. Live on Parasc. Study at asari school to be mining engineer. I top of class-- very smart. I even go off-world to conference, to share my learnings. But when I there, Reapers attack home, kill everybody. I see humans and turians fighting Reapers, and think, why not vorcha? So, I join Alliance fighters.

"But, there is problem. Fighter need fearsome name. Narg is smart name, name of great engineer, but not fearsome. At recruit station, I hear human leader talking to soldiers. Human say, 'Sir Izak Nuton is deadliest son-of-varren in space!' I think 'varren' is translator error, but message is same: 'Sir Izak Nuton' is deadly, respected name for human warriors. Since I join human ship, I use human name--Sir Izak Nuton."

Its story complete, Sir Izak Nuton sat back in its chair, looking smug. Trogdor could not take any more of this drivel. Mining? Engineer? Asari _school_?!?! With a roar, it leapt from the chair, arms spread wide, claws and teeth at the ready, to show this "Sir Izak Nuton" what a _real_ deadly vorcha was like.

Trogdor was suddenly encased in a shimmering, tingling web. Frozen in mid-attack, it saw that Br'drick had met a similar fate, and that Sir Izak Nuton's omnitool was glowing. The engineer vorcha explained, "That, I call Submission Net. It dissipate eventually, you no permanent harm. Save it for Reapers, big guy." And with that, the deadliest vorcha in space picked up its tray and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, if this happens too often, Trogdor and Br'drik will evolve immunity to Submission Net, and then Sir Izak Nuton will be in trouble.


	9. Demon of the Night Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I solo'd Gold Reapers to get the banner, but what about the character?

The huntress Drusilla ghosted through the corridors of the abandoned hospital. Ahead, a turian husk was blocking her path. She drew on her biotics. A moment later, the creature collapsed, drained of whatever semblance of life it had possessed.

_(For what felt like the thousandth time, she told herself that the taste of burnt circuitry in her mouth was an illusion, a figment created by her defective nervous system.)_

Her mission was to clear the site of Reaper forces, so that a scavenging team could move in and recover much-needed medical supplies. Months ago, when the war began, such a mission would have merited a full combat squad. It was a sign of the Citadel races' increasing desperation that they had to rely on a single commando, now, even if that operative _had_ once been Matriarch Elayna's best agent. 

_(Drusilla preferred to work alone. Alone, there was no risk of developing complicated relationships with alien comrades who did not understand what it meant to be AY-positive. Or even worse, with asari comrades who did. )_

A muffled shriek caught the huntress' attention. Her quarry was nearby. Above her. 

She entered a sequence on her omnitool that opened a hatch in the wall. The maintenance shaft thus revealed was intended for repair drones, but it was wide enough for her purpose. 

She exited the shaft onto the roof overlooking a heliport. Below her moved a creature out of nightmare. The grotesque, elongated limbs, skull-like face, and talons like knives must have been what primitive asari imagined on cold nights, when they huddled in caves and told tales of the nightwind demons. 

_(Upon learning what had happened on Lesuss, Drusilla had begged Elayna to allow her to join the Alliance's front-line forces. Centuries ago, the Matriarch had offered direction and purpose to an AY maiden who had just been released from Lesuss' monastery. She had granted the same asari--a matron now, but not a mother, never that--the freedom to save her sisters.)_

On the rooftop, the huntress once again channeled her power at a target. Unlike the turian husk, this one felt her life-force draining away. The Reaperized ardat-yakshi screamed, and threw a sphere of dark energy towards Drusilla's position. She took cover, and reset her cloaking field. Invisibly, she moved to a new position, channeled her power again, and followed up with a hail of warp-enhanced ammunition to the demon's skull. The ardat-yakshi let out a final cry, and crumbled to ash. 

_(Aliens were unnerved by the Banshees' cry, frightened, even. Perhaps that was the Reapers' intent, to terrorize their victims. But Drusilla recognized the truth-- it was the agonized scream of a tortured soul.)_

Two more shrieks split the air. Drusilla ejected her rifle's spent thermal clip, reset her cloak again, and waited as the shrieks cam ever closer. She would return to her sisters the peace that had been brutally stolen from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent many hours attempting (and finally succeeding) to solo Gold Reapers with the Asari Huntress, so I had a lot of time to think about her backstory.


End file.
